


This Might Sting

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The moral of the story is:  Don't go drinking with D'Argo.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Might Sting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancing_badly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancing_badly/gifts).



“This might sting a bit,” Zhaan warns.

“Ow!” Crichton pulls back, lifts a hand involuntarily to push her away. She complies with his unspoken wishes, taking a step back, raslak-soaked pad held firmly between her thumb and forefinger.

“Do you wish me to continue, Crichton?”

“No! Yes.” He blinks twice; the second time his eyes remain closed, shuttering the lovely blue of his irises. After a moment, he opens his uninjured eye. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice filled with trepidation, and Zhaan bites back a smile.

“You told me both yes and no. In most cultures, they cancel each other out.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he tells her, “Yes, Zhaan, I want you to continue.”

“Then hold still.” She takes a step toward him again, leaning in to get a better look at the still-oozing cut over his left eye. Before she even touches pad to cut, he inhales sharply and holds his breath. “Are all humans as susceptible to pain as you?” she asks, curious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he states through gritted teeth, and when she wipes at the bloody cut, he jerks his head back again with a wordless cry.

“That is what I’m referring to, Crichton.” The beginnings of irritation begin to bubble up inside her.

“What the hell did you soak that thing in? Lighter fluid?” His eyes are watering.

“It’s soaked in raslak. The very substance that caused your current situation. If you had drunk less of it…”

“I did not throw the first punch.” While he’s distracted with his indignation, Zhaan lays her palm flat against his cheek and jaw, gripping tightly as she wipes away the last of the blood with her other hand. He eyes her reproachfully. “You tricked me.”

“Stop whining, Crichton.” She drops the bloody pad onto a tray and reaches for a small tube, twists off the cap. Squeezing a line of clear gel onto the pad of one finger, she reminds him, “I warned you it might sting a bit.”

“Really? Is that what you call the excruciating pain you just put me through?”

“Stop being such a child.”

He eyes her finger suspiciously. “What is that? Some kind of alien Neosporin?”

“I don’t know what that is, but this,” she raises her finger to the cut over his eye, “will seal the cut so it won’t bleed again.” Before he has a chance to protest once more, she swipes her finger over the wound.

He scrunches his eyes shut in anticipation of more pain and Zhaan just watches him, shaking her head. She smiles when he again opens just one eye. “I thought it was going to hurt,” he says.

“No, Crichton. I warned you the raslak would hurt. The monslee gel seals the wound and numbs the pain. We’re done.” She steps back and starts packing her supplies away.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh. That wasn’t so bad, after all.”

“Crichton?”

“Zhaan?”

“Don’t go drinking with D’Argo again.”


End file.
